


The things you said... - JOHNLOCK

by moriartysqueen



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2018-11-02 21:07:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 20,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10952745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moriartysqueen/pseuds/moriartysqueen
Summary: A collection of Johnlock one-shots under the topic "The things you said...".





	1. Masterlist

**Author's Note:**

> In this story, there will be different POV's, tropes and situations. The one-shots are not in any way connected so I'd recommand you read them seperately. Enjoy!

PLEASE READ!!  
A/N: Welcome fellow Johnlock shippers! And welcome to my new long-term fanfic project that I have been planning for a while now. I know I am not someone who uploads very regularly but with this, I am really trying. I just finished school and so I have a lot of time until university starts in October. And I am keeping myself busy with this, and I hope you’ll tag along!  
This was NOT my idea! I simply copied the masterlist by @robbersdjh on tumblr and decided to do it myself. I have NOT read their stories, so any similarities with their stories / prompts are simply coincidences. Naturally, the characters will be Dr. John Watson and Sherlock Holmes from the BBC Sherlock / ACD universe, but anything else has NOTHING to do with the actual canon. These are all AU’s of my own, or at least my own spins on scenes that already exist on the TV show.  
Also, I want you to know that Sherlock and John aren’t an item in every one of the one-shots. Not all of the one-shots will be super fluffy or smutty, there will be angst. Mostly, they will have feelings for each other, but in most of the one-shots they won’t be a couple right away. Please remember that I am NOT a smut writer, so please don’t expect that from me.  
Furthermore, please excuse any typos / mistakes, as I english is not my mothertongue and I'm probably also writing this over night, so mistakes will probably happen. Sorry in advance. Also, please don’t worry if you read these EXACT stories on Wattpad, as I will be uploading the stories there as well under my Wattpad-name: @dah_feels  
Here is the masterlist of all the one-shots in this series:

THE THINGS YOU SAID…  
1\. …at 1am  
2\. … through your teeth  
3\. … too quietly  
4\. … over the phone  
5\. The things you didn’t say at all  
6\. … under the stars and in the grass  
7\. …while we were driving  
8\. …when you were crying  
9\. … that made me feel like shit  
10\. … when I was crying  
11\. … when you were drunk  
12\. … when you thought I was asleep  
13\. … at the kitchen table  
14\. … after you kissed me  
15\. … with too many miles between us  
16\. … with no space between us  
17\. … that I wish you hadn’t.  
18\. … when you were scared  
19\. … when we were the happiest we ever were  
20\. … that I wasn’t meant to hear  
21\. … when we were on the top of the world  
22\. … after it was over  
23\. … on the streetcar at 1am  
24\. … with clenched fists  
25\. … in the backseat of a cab  
26\. … sitting still  
27\. … on the phone at 4am  
28\. … but not out loud  
29\. … in the backyard at night  
30\. … on the highway  
31\. … while I cried in your arms  
32\. … I wouldn’t understand  
33\. … at the back of the theater  
34\. … in your sleep  
35\. … that made me feel real  
36\. … you’ll never forget  
37\. … with the TV on mute  
38\. … while holding my hand  
39\. …when we first met  
40\. … when you met my parents  
41\. … you loved about me  
42\. … when you asked me to marry you  
43\. … in your vows  
44\. … before you kissed me  
45\. … on new year’s eve  
46\. … when you kissed me goodnight  
47\. … in our hotel room  
48\. … on our honeymoon  
49\. … when we were 18  
50\. … when we were 70  
51\. … as we danced in our socks  
52\. … with my lips on your neck  
53\. … in the dark  
54\. The things you always meant to say but never got the chance  
55\. … under your breath  
56\. … in the spur of the moment  
57\. … when no one else was around  
58\. … you were afraid of  
59\. … after we fell in love  
60\. … that would never make me forget you.

Thank you for reading!  
Enjoy <3


	2. ...at 1am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is confused by his feelings for Sherlock and is afraid of moving on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teen!Lock

-John’s POV-

I buried my hands in the depths of my pockets to keep them safe from the chilly and rainy night weather. It was noticeable that it was April, the weather obviously couldn’t decide between rain and heat. The atmosphere was really uncomfortable, but unfortunately, that wasn’t only due to the weather…

In general, today has been quite a good one. I slept in this morning, did some writing for my blog and in the late afternoon met up with Sherlock, went to dinner and finally watched a funny play in our local theater. It was a tiny open-air play that was incredibly hilarious but also very emotional.  
The play was about a man who accidentally killed another person and tried to bury them in their backyard. After his wife found out, they tried to conceal the crime together and in the end, got away with it. 

However, all the time when they were talking about love, I had to think of this curly-haired boy sitting next to me. I always tried to repress it, but lately I just for some reason COULDN’T anymore. At one point, one of the actors said how we shouldn’t be afraid of who we love, because in the end, it’s not our choice to make. In this exact moment, Sherlock’s hand brushed against mine and sent lightning bolts up my arm. 

I just couldn’t deal with this anymore. Was that touch on purpose? Or was it simply coincidental and I was just totally misinterpreting this, as always?  
Apparently, Sherlock didn’t waste one thought to this, as he was happily chatting to me during the break and even asked me if I wanted to go to a Pub after the show. I agreed, simply because I didn’t want to be home alone this early on a Sunday, when I didn’t have school the next day.  
But the problem was, no matter how much I wanted to, I just couldn’t stay with Sherlock for any longer. The thoughts kept pushing forwards in my mind, these thoughts and feelings I’ve had for the past years, but that recently started to resurface.

So we went around our shitty little town in search for a pub, a restaurant or a bar where we could get a couple of drinks before we went home. However, in our small town, every single place closed at around 10.  
The theater play finished at 10:13pm and at the moment, it was 0:48am. So we literally spent almost 3 hours walking around town, finding somewhere to spend some time. Now that I was looking down on my phone, I noticed that I didn’t realize how much time had passed.  
Walking around this empty place, next to Sherlock, talking about everything and nothing, was just so relaxing. I suddenly noticed that I didn’t even need a pub or a bar to be at right now. Being here, as it seems alone with Sherlock on this planet, in the middle of the night, was more than enough. 

“It’s crazy isn’t it?” Sherlock said into the darkness, his eyes glued to the black stones to his feet.

“What is?” I answered, not looking up either.

Sherlock let out a huff, the cold swirling around his mouth like smoke. He slowed down is pace and started to drag his feet. I looked up into his perfect face that was only partly lit by a near street lamp. His skinny and smooth silhouette seemed to be one with the city around him.  
“This. It’s past midnight on a Sunday and we’re still out because we can. Because we don’t have any school anymore.” Sherlock finally said.

“Well, technically we do. We both have still an exam left so technically, we’re still students.” I remarked, not sure where this conversation was going. 

“Didn’t we just start school? Wasn’t yesterday my first day in elementary school?” Sherlock reminisced, as if he didn’t hear what I said.

“To be quite honest, I don’t remember much from elementary school…” I answered, kicking a small pebble down the pavement. 

“I remember it quite clearly because it was the first time I properly had to interact with different people than just my brother and my parents. I hated it.” Sherlock remembered, making me smile.

This sounded just so Sherlock. He really wasn’t a super social person, he preferred being alone most of time. Frankly, most people didn’t want to have anything to do with him either. He came across quite rude and arrogant on first glance. He despised everyone he didn’t consider of his own intellect. However, I was the exception.  
In this moment, I remembered the time I first met Sherlock in 5th grade. It was the first day in secondary school and didn’t know anyone. Additionally, I was late, on my first day of school. When I entered the class room, every single seat was already taken, except the one next to Sherlock.

‘Great.’ I thought at the time. ‘A lanky nerd without any friends. Way to start a good reputation, Watson.’  
Originally, my goal had been to sit next to a beautiful girl or a popular guy that I could be friends with. When I let myself down on the seat next to Sherlock, I noticed how he had neatly organized pens and paper, his hand folded in front of him, he stared blankly to the front.  
He didn’t even bother to respond to my greeting and small talk attempts. Who knew that now, 7 years later, I would call this weirdo my best friend.

“It makes me sad to know I have to leave this place.” I lied. It was probably the biggest lie I’ve ever told.

I hated this place, I hated school and most people in it. I really didn’t have a good relationship with my parents or my family in general, so pretty much everything I’ve ever wanted was to move out of this place and start new all over again. New flat, new job, new John.  
In my mind, I was involuntarily correcting my phrase: ‘It makes me sad to know I have to leave you.’

Honestly, Sherlock had been the only good thing about these past few years. He had been there through all my phases and all my girlfriends. I had always been the loner type when it came to friends, so Sherlock was my exception as well. All these lousy relationships couldn’t fulfill me like one day spent with Sherlock doing nothing.  
It is really sad, I needed to admit.

“Well, I just really don’t like change.” Sherlock quietly said next to me, with a hint of sadness in his voice.

He chuckled nervously. “Now, have you applied for any universities yet?”

“Tons.” he answered briefly. 

Suddenly, I started to feel bad. I haven’t applied for ANY universities yet whatsoever. Honestly, I didn’t even know what to become. I had a pretty good GPA and I always wanted to be a doctor. But I was unsure if this was really the profession I wanted to have for the rest of life. For Sherlock, it was easy. I always wanted to be a policeman or a detective. So naturally, he applied for that. 

Without talking, we both intuitively walked towards the parking lot where Sherlock had parked his car. I would walk home, I didn’t have it very far, but Sherlock still had a 15 minute drive ahead of himself. As the parking lot came into my view, I wanted to slow down and stay right where we were. I didn’t want to part with Sherlock quite yet, although I wanted exactly that only a few minutes before. 

As we chatted about our future and how we imagined everything, I just wanted to say something. Something that mattered. I wanted to open up about my hidden feelings, the sexuality that I was still questioning, which caused problems with my dad and just in general, I wanted to pour my heart out to this man next to me. But because I’m dump, I didn’t say anything valid. I just walked along and listened to a story about Sherlock’s childhood dog. 

Suddenly, we found ourselves on the empty parking lot. Only the hideous green Nissan from Sherlock was parked perfectly to our right.  
My brain was clouded by the thoughts of having to part with Sherlock now, so I didn’t listen to what he was saying right now. I only heard him say one sentence: “I guess we just need to let things go.”

“I guess you are right.” I agreed, without understanding the context. 

Sherlock gave a small, sad nod and fumbled his coat pocket for his car keys. Without another word, he gave me a lopsided smile, turned around and walked towards his car.  
I briefly waved, then turned around myself and started to walk down the street. I heard the engine hum to life behind me and Sherlock taking off into the night. I didn’t turn around though, I just needed to think.

Why do discussions about my future and leaving high-school always put me in such a bad mood? I then realized that it wasn’t about leaving school or my family… it was just about leaving Sherlock. I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving, without him knowing what I truly felt. 

Dad always preached me that attraction to the same gender is something that will happen, but is very unnatural and should just be forgotten. And, honestly, I tried. But what did it mean if someone just CAN’T forget and oppress these feelings? Maybe they are meant to be?

In that moment I remembered the moment from earlier today in the theater when our hands touched. This cozy warm feeling I got every single time Sherlock touched me in one way or another is nothing one should feel for their best friend. I did anyway.

I walked down this long and lonely road that was framed in the orange light of the old street lamps. Wind suddenly started to blow and needed to put up my coat collar against the cold. I nuzzled into my coat and picked up the pace. My house was already in sight and I fumbled around in my pockets in search of my keys. I picked up my phone and noticed that it was already half past one.  
I still had no idea if the feeling that I had for Sherlock were normal or indeed of romantic nature. And if they were, did Sherlock feel the same? Was a relationship even a possibility? 

The second I walked up the three steps to our front door, I realized something. I did not want to let go.


	3. ...through your teeth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Sherlock is playing with Rosie in 221b and mumbles something through his teeth, John needs to jump into action.

-John’s POV-

“There has been another murder in Southampton, what is it about this city?” I said, studying the latest newspaper in front of me.  
This was honestly one of the hardest cases for me to understand. 5 murders in the last 2 weeks, all in Southampton, every person was found in their bathroom, but no sign for what or who killed them. There was no evidence whatsoever and even my intelligent companion Sherlock really didn’t know what to do about these. 

“I don’t have any idea… yet.” said Sherlock, who was sitting a few feet away from me on the floor. Rosie was sitting in between his legs and they played with one of her toys.

I am honestly so thankful that Sherlock was helping me with Rose so much. I couldn’t cope after Mary’s death and he was always there and always wanted to help.  
Yes, I did love Mary, but it was an unhealthy love. I knew I always wanted MORE; I always wanted things I couldn’t have with her. At one point, I started to secretly text another woman I’ve met on the bus, just so I could feel a rush of adrenaline because of the possibility of getting caught. With her, it was always competition. Whose day was more exciting, who could get Rosie to talk or walk first? 

Everything was different with Sherlock now.  
I used to always choke the feelings that I’ve had for Sherlock, since the day we met. After the army, I just wanted an ordinary life that I just couldn’t imagine with Sherlock. So I was happy when I met Mary, because she seemed so ordinary. Perfect for me.  
Only later I realized that this what I have right now, an unusual family and a dangerous job, was exactly what I needed to be outstandingly happy. 

Long story short, a few weeks ago, I told Sherlock about my feelings.  
We were on our way back from a crime scene, at the back of a cab. I was heavily breathing and I had already prepared the words in my head. Then I just said it – I am in love with you, Sherlock. I always have been. Sorry for waiting so long.  
Sherlock was noticeably quiet and stayed that way until we stepped into 221b. As soon as the door closed behind us, he started to kiss me and I kissed back. In that moment I knew what the thing was, that I felt missing from myself for all these years.  
Sherlock later that evening told me that he had always felt the same, but was always afraid to say something. He was afraid that I was straight after all and that our friendship would break. 

If I’m being honest, this is still my biggest fear – what if one day, we would break up? I wouldn’t only lose my boyfriend, but also my soul mate, my best friend.  
For now though, I am the happiest I’ve ever been with this. With my daughter, my boyfriend and this life that the three of us live – against all odds. 

“It just doesn’t make sense you know…” Sherlock said, ripping me out of my thoughts.  
“I mean I’ve checked everything – choking to death, poison… nothing makes any sense.”

“Well Sherlock, maybe you need to admit that this is a case you might not be able to solve.” I suggested, folding the newspaper and placing it on the coffee table to my left. 

“Forget it John. This is EXACTLY Moriarty’s handwriting – he is just testing me, AGAIN!” Sherlock exclaimed, almost screaming. Rosie was looking up at him with eyes wide as saucers. Sometimes I wonder if she could understand what we were saying. 

“Well, Jim out-smarted you once already. Who says he can’t do it again?” I said calmly, fumbling my phone out of my pocket.

In the corner of my eye I could see how Sherlock just lightly shook his head. I smiled. He did this every time when he knew he was wrong and I was right. Although we were a couple now, he still HATED to admit that I was also intelligent. Naturally not as intelligent as him or Mycroft, but still not as dumb as he tried to portray me sometimes. 

For a while, it became very calm in the living room. I was scrolling through e-mails and Sherlock was quietly playing with Rosie on the floor. The silence gave me time to think.  
Okay, I had always kind of been in love with Sherlock, but there were moments when I just wanted to punch him in the face. While it was amusing to see him be rude to ANYONE besides me, it was even more frustrating when he called me an idiot for not seeing ‘the obvious’. This gift that he and his brother had was very exceptional and admirable, but it made them more and more arrogant. No surprise that Sherlock barely had any friends when I got to know him. 

At the beginning, I would lay awake in bed for hours questioning if I really was as dumb as he made me out to be. Years into it now, I just ignore his derogatory remarks towards my intelligence. Sometimes, I would even fight back and criticize his lack of emotions and empathy, because I knew how much he hated that. Now, however, we settled on a compromise – If he wouldn’t make remarks about my intelligence, I wouldn’t make ones about his feelings. And it worked just fine for now. 

All these times when he was totally going on my nerves, when I could just throw him out the window, were forgiven as soon as I remembered myself of all his good sides. Every time when he tried to make a romantic gesture and failed horribly, or was too embarrassed to take a thank you. Every time when he unconsciously snuggled into me in his sleep. Every time when he selflessly helped Mrs. Hudson with pretty much anything she didn’t ask for. Or in moments like this, when he was sitting on the floor with Rosie, playing with her silly games and smiling and laughing with her.

“You know Rose – your father’s a prick.” Sherlock mumbled through his teeth, trying to hide these words from me.

“Excuse me?” I said, standing up.

“I didn’t say anything…” Sherlock said hypocritically, looking down on Rosie.

I was just about to let this remark go and sit down again, as a smile crept over my face. I wanted revenge, and I wanted my revenge now. With a devilish smile on my face, I walked over to my boyfriend and happily kneeled down next to him. I ruffled through his curly hair as if he was a little boy. He hated this and I knew it, so it seemed like the perfect revenge. 

Sherlock huffed in response but started to smile as well – before I knew what he was doing, he started to tickle my sides. I immediately started giggling as I was probably the most ticklish person in the world.

What started with a few pokes in the stomach ended in a tickle war on the floor. Like children we were rolling over the carpet, laughing and heavily breathing. 

After a few minutes, we were incredibly out of breath and ended in a position with him lying underneath me. I propped myself up in a push-up position so I was hovering above him. Breathing heavily, Sherlock smiled up at me.

“You know, I imagined this differently…” I started to flirt.

“What do you mean?” said the always-so-oblivious-Sherlock Holmes.

“You know… me on top of you, panting together…” I finished with my cocky response. 

Sherlock cheeks flushed crimson. Whenever I made suggestive remarks he would get incredibly flustered and shy. 

Since Sherlock was a virgin, we took things slowly. Obviously for me, I wanted to have sex with him the second we were alone. Although he didn’t want to admit it, Sherlock was scared of it. He spent 34 years of his life without it or without even the possibility. But now that he had me, something consistent, it was all a little different. But obviously I would never pressure Sherlock into anything – a first time only happens once, so better make it special.

He was avoiding my gaze so close to him, so I just leaned in and kissed him. His lips always were so soft and dry, I could just sink into them. The kiss was sweet and romantic, nothing demanding. He gave into the kiss as well and we just lay there, for a second, forgetting everything around us.

“Ieeehhh!” Rosie suddenly shrieked to our right, laughing and shrieking at the same time.  
Sherlock and I both turned our heads towards her and she was covering her little face with her tiny hands. If Mrs. Hudson would enter the room right now, it would probably be a funny view. All three of us on the floor, me and Sherlock on top of each other and Rosie sat aside laughing. 

Sherlock started to laugh as well and soon we were all giggling at the peculiar situation. I stood up first, helping Sherlock up. 

“What is it little one?” he said, bowing down to pick up Rosie who was still giggling. 

“We should probably make lunch, it’s already quite late.” I said, as I felt my stomach rumble.  
We needed to have some lunch and afterwards take a nap, that honestly all three of us deserved. 

“You are right.” Sherlock said and walked with Rosie towards the kitchen to see what was still in the fridge to eat. “But you’re still a prick!” he shouted.

I just sat down in my arm chair again and started to shake my head. Then I rose, smiled and ran towards the kitchen, where Sherlock and Rosie were having a laughing fit.


	4. ...too quietly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock get quite bored at a choir concert.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: INFEDELITY, DIRTY-TALK

-Sherlock’s POV-

„It sounds so beautiful, doesn’t it?“ Mary whispered next to me. Her eyes lit up the second the choir started singing. In contrast to me and John, she really had a thing for art and music. 

I did play the violin myself, yes, but instrumental music was really the only form of music that I found somewhat appealing. Singing wasn’t really my cup of tea, much less this choir thing that I forced to listen to right now.

It was the same procedure as every year – somewhat around Christmas our local choir would have a charity concert to help the poor and homeless. And every single year Mary would drag me and John along with her to the gigantic church in which this was taking place. Apparently a niece or nephew of Mary was part of this choir and so naturally, the whole family had to be at EVERY concert with proud smile and the camera ready.

For me, however, this was more torture than enjoyment. John, who was sitting aside me yawning, apparently felt the same way. Over the last few years he had just given up on arguing with Mary about these sorts of things, it saved us a lot of time and energy.

I felt Mary’s gaze on my right and apparently she wanted an answer for her question. I just flashed the fakest smile at her and nodded enthusiastically. She must have known, as I am the worst liar in the entire universe. I’m still wondering how I manage to keep my and John’s little secret…

“Jesus freaking Christ we’re already sat here for 90 minutes. When is this hell over…” John whispered to me, hoping that Mary won’t hear. 

“John you can’t talk about hell, we are in a church.” I joked, acting all serious. I never believed in this sort of stuff and as far as I know, John didn’t either. The only thing he did was go to church on Christmas, but who didn’t do that?

I faced the choir standing in the front of the church, singing the approximately 324th song that sounded pretty much like all the others. I just wanted to relax and accept the situation I was on, as I felt a light hand rest on my knee. It was coming from my left side, so I knew it had to be John.

I immediately started blushing – worst liar ever, there you go. I glanced over at Mary, who didn’t seem to notice it. Her eyes were still glued to the front, her lips mouthing along the words to a song I’ve never heard before.

I tried to swiftly brush John’s hand away from my knee, but failed horribly. 

Acting as if I was shifting in my seat, I leaned over towards him. “John we’re in public.” I whispered, playing it off with a cough. 

“How exciting right.” John murmured into my ear with his deep seductive voice, sending a shiver down my spine.

I felt Mary move next to me and John immediately pulled away his hand.  
“I’ll quickly go to the toilet, tell me if anything happens afterwards.” Mary whispered, quietly getting out of her seat and walking towards the back of the church.  
My whole body started to shake. This happened a lot lately whenever I was alone with John.

I’m not really sure when this started, we probably were always attract to each other. This first time this was ever really made clear however was during John’s stag night. We were both completely wasted and a sloppy kiss during the ‘Who am I?’ game turned into more. 

I never actually admitted this to anyone before but John was my first and I want him to be my last. For him, this thing that we have might just be relief or amusement, but for me it was so much more. I have been in love with him for a few years now and honestly, I never wanted anything more than him. But he is married and probably actually loves Mary so this is enough for now. Whenever I get his attention, in whatever way, it’s enough for me. 

The only person who knows about this ‘special situation’ between me and John is my brother, who deduced it once and I had to tell him. Only then it came to my mind that he is right and that, yes, what we are doing isn’t really a good thing. Every time John and I are together, he is cheating on his wife.

Before my first time with him, I was never really interested in sexual intercourse. I figured people only did it for either amusement or procreation and I didn’t have time for either. But after that night with John, I couldn’t get enough of him. Whenever we were alone, even for only a minute, we would be making and our hands would be all over each other.  
For John it was just having another person to sleep with whenever Mary wasn’t available, but for me it felt like the only physical connection I could ever have with him. He made me feel good and alive and gave me that adrenaline rush that I normally only got during exciting cases. 

John leaned over until his mouth was almost touching my ear. “I can’t wait until we’re out of here…” he said and I could feel his warm breath against my skin. 

“Why? What are you planning on doing?” I asked innocently. At the moment, I worried more about the people around us seeing and judging us than John’s dirty fantasies. But as I looked around us, no one seemed to care or even notice. Everyone was just looking towards the front, where a soloist sang a high and long note at the moment. 

“Well, quite a few things actually…” John whispered, his hand sliding up to rest on my thigh. 

I felt him move closer to me so our sides were completely pressed together. As I gulped and stared determinedly towards the choir, I felt John lips brush against my neck. 

“Shit, not here John.” I whispered, feeling a tingling feeling creep towards my lower stomach. 

Yes, I wanted John. And I wanted him right now. But not in the middle of a church surrounded by approximately 300 people. 

The little brush of his lips turned into sucking and kissing a small spot underneath my ear. I poked John into his stomach as a warning.  
We had agreed on the subject of hickeys that he was allowed to give me hickeys as long as they were not visible or easy to cover with clothes. Much to my regret, we agreed that I wasn’t allowed to give him any hickeys, as that would have been highly suspicious if Mary was ever to discover one of them. 

It seemed like John suddenly remembered, as he quickly drew away his lips from my necks and chuckled. He pulled his hand away from my thigh too, only to wrap it around my side and slip his finger underneath my shirt. 

I felt his warm touch against my skin and sighed at the sensation. 

“God Sherlock, I want you.” John whispered next to me, almost too quiet. 

I started to tense and sit up straight as I felt his fingers slowly make their way under the hem of my trousers, resting on my prominent hip bone. I closed my eyes and licked my lips, just imagining the way John would touch if we were not surrounded by hundreds of people.

Oh John. He would always pleasure me so much. He would kiss me LITERALLY anywhere, touch and caress my skin, and then –

“Boys I have good news!” Mary suddenly ripped me out of my fantasies. I also noticed that John’s hands were neatly folded in his lap and that he had shifted away from me again.  
I quickly crossed my legs to cover a now very obvious problem.

“Hm?” I asked, not knowing what she was talking about. 

“I met Carol on the toilet! You know, my good friend Carol?” she asked cheerily, apparently looking for something in her purse.

“Yeah sure!” I said, pretending to know this person. 

“Well, she asked me if I wanted to join them at a little get-together after the concert at her house! I haven’t seen her in soooo long so obviously I will be joining them. Don’t worry boys, you can go home if you want to!” She said enthusiastically.

I could feel John’s devilish smile next to me. Mary was still occupied with her purse, so she didn’t notice when John once again brushed his hand against my butt. 

“That is indeed good news…”


	5. ...over the phone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is still angry at Sherlock for killing Mary. When Sherlock calls him against his will, everything changes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: SUICIDE, ANGST, TALKING ABOUT SUICIDAL THOUGHTS  
> (if you are not safe with it please skip this chapter!)

-John’s POV-

I opened the fridge door and pulled out another beer. It was the third one already since I got home from my therapist 2 hours ago. I always hated these sessions but I figured they could help me in some way. Or not.

After I returned from Afghanistan 7 years ago I had been in and out of therapy. First it was prescribed by the army officials so I went to fulfill my duty. When I found Sherlock and got into solving cases with him, I stopped going completely because I just didn’t have the time anymore. Now however, after Mary’s death, I felt like this was the only way to get out of the hole that I buried myself in.

I sat down in the blue armchair that Mary used to always sit in and sipped my beer while I stared against the wall, a habit that I did more and more lately. 

It seemed so surreal to me that she was already dead for one month. I will never forget this fateful moment in the aquarium, when Sherlock just let her die and I could do nothing against it. In that moment, I would have pushed her aside or attacked the assassin or would have done ANYTHING to prevent hurting the people closest to me.  
After she died, I totally abandoned all friends and family for over two weeks. I didn’t speak to anyone, only occasionally to Molly who cared for Rosie during these hard times. I am incredibly thankful that Molly helped me through this. 

Still, I am so mad at myself. I am mad that I wasn’t able to care for my daughter. I am mad that I couldn’t stay strong for her and be with her. She lost her mother too and while she was still too young to fathom what happened, I have a feeling that she knew. In whatever way.

Suddenly, I heard that my phone started ringing in my coat pocket. I got up with a huff and fumbled through my coat pockets until I could reach the little metal device that still didn’t change after all these years. It was still the mobile that Harry gave to me years ago.

As I looked at the locked screen, I saw that Sherlock was calling. I angrily hit the red button. I told him millions of times to stop calling me. 

He really tried everything – EVERYTHING. He tried to call me, he tried to phone Molly, he visited Molly’s flat in hopes to meet me there, he even came knocking to my house. I told him every single time, that I didn’t want him here or at all. I asked him politely (and not so politely) to leave my life for good and just let me be.

All these years that we’ve spent together were just finished. It was the last straw – nothing would ever make me forgive him. In two days, I made an appointment at the administration office to remove Sherlock as one of Rosie’s godparents. I know Sherlock would never try to get reinforcement from the law, but I just want to cut all connections between me and him. I didn’t want anything to do with my wife’s murder. Also, I didn’t want Rosie to have anything to do with him either. 

My phone lit up again and Sherlock’s profile picture flashed over my screen. I looked at it for a second before I pressed the red button once more. 

It was a picture of us during my stag night. We took a selfie while we were playing ‘Who am I?’. We were both completely drunk and to be quite honest, this picture wasn’t very beautiful, but it was just incredibly hilarious so I set it as Sherlock’s caller profile picture. We had our foreheads pressed against each other and smiled drunkenly into the camera, before we…

And that was exactly one of the problems. No matter how hard I tried to get Sherlock out of my life, I would never be able to get rid of all of the memories we shared.  
I need to admit that when I returned from the war I felt suicidal for a while. Of course the war in Afghanistan wasn’t very pleasant, however it gave me a feeling of purpose and belonging. The people that I got to know during that time that grew to be my close friends were just gone as soon as I returned to London. In all of the years I am here now, I never once heard of ANY of my friends from Afghanistan. Either they didn’t want to reach out or they COULDN’T. 

After my first meeting and first stroll through London with Sherlock, I suddenly felt that rush of adrenaline again that I had been missing since I returned from the war. His brother Mycroft then told me something I just didn’t want to realize – I missed the war. And it was true – I missed the adrenaline, this purpose that I had in my team and the people that I grew so close with. 

Sherlock really was my second chance. Living and working with him became my new life and indeed, I started to feel alive again. I am sure that I will never be able to forget such moments and realizations. 

My phone started ringing for the third time and I was just totally enraged now. I had no clue if this feeling was intensified by the alcohol that I had already consumed, but nevertheless I wanted to tell him once and for all to stop calling me. So I picked up.

“What?” I yelled into my phone.

“J-John?” Sherlock’s voice was shaking on the other end of the line.

“What do you want?” I asked, a lot calmer now because I recognized a certain tone in his voice. 

“I-I needed to talk to you. One last time…” Sherlock said calmly.

I heard that his voice was shaking as if he was crying. However, I knew the slight difference between his crying-voice and his drug-voice and I was almost certain he wasn’t crying…

“Okay Sherlock listen to me once because I’m not going to say it again: Stay away from me and from my daughter now and forever. You understand?” I asked with emphasis. 

“Believe me John, I will…” he whispered into the phone. 

“Why did you even phone me?” I asked impatiently. I really didn’t want to talk to him right now.

“I just wanted to say how immensely sorry I am. I just… want you to know that.” Sherlock said.

This wasn’t the first time he apologized to me. A few weeks ago during Mary’s funeral Sherlock came up to me and offered his help to me. He apologized and proposed that we could maybe try living together again.

I immediately shut him off then and told him that the day we would start living together again, he had permission to murder me. Now however, thinking about it, I realized that maybe having a friend in those hard times could really help…

“If you are calling to ask me if we can live together again then I can only tell y-“ I started.

“No No, that’s not why I’m calling.” Sherlock interrupted me. “I just wanted you to be the last person I speak to. Ever.”

“What?!” I asked in disbelief. Did he really just say that?

“You are not the only one who can’t cope right now.” He started to explain. “It kills me every day to know how much I’ve hurt you, the person I love most in this world.”

Ouch. Hearing these words from Sherlock, the man without emotions, send a shiver down my spine. I knew that I was his best friend – rather his only friend. But I always assumed that he couldn’t really feel love. And if he could, I never thought I was the one he loved the most. I always thought his parents or Mycroft or…

“I know that you hate me at the moment because I threatened the lives of your entire family and I… just can’t live with it anymore…” he shivered.

“Sherlock… are you on drugs?” I asked as a last defense.

“I wish!” he chuckled. “But then I remembered how much you hated that and so…”

In that moment, I’d prefer anything else. I’d prefer him being high as a kite or rude to Mrs. Hudson until she would cry or teasing Molly until she slapped him. Literally anything besides THIS.

“Wh-What are you doing?” I asked. “Where are you?”

“I’m at Baker Street. I have a gun and I…” he whispered.

“No, Sherlock stop that.” I shrieked into the phone that I now held with both hands, in fear that it might slip and I would miss something he’d say.

“John, I just want you to know that… what happened at the stag night…” Sherlock said, ignoring my threat.

“No, we’re not going to talk about this now. Throw away the gun and we’ll talk afterwards.” I suggested a lot more calm. I realized that screaming at him probably wouldn’t do the job. 

“It made me feel real. And I honestly thought it was enough. I wish it would’ve been enough…” Sherlock reminisced. I had to listen closely, as his voice was so low and quiet it was barely audible. 

“Sherlock…” I tried again.

“I know I’m annoying you, I’m sorry. I truly am. I just wanted you to know… it’s true. It’s true John.” he cried. 

“What... What is?” I asked, trying to get him to talk.

“I’m in love with you John. I always have been. And during the stag night… I… I thought you felt it too.” he whispered.

“You bastard.” I responded, barely audible. 

“John… I am sorry.” his voice was shaking from tears now.

“Honestly… now?! You are telling me this NOW when I am mourning my departed wife?!” I yelled into the phone. 

“I am sorry John. I apologize for all of the hurt that I’ve caused you. I just… wanted you to know that.” he said weakly. 

“Sherlock, whatever you are doing…” I threatened. 

“Behind the mirror over our mantelpiece is a code for a secret bank account that I’ve created for Rosie. All of my money is on it, please use it. Could you please tell her how much I love her?” Sherlock told me.

My voice was shaking. “Sherlock…”

“Promise me!” he demanded.

“Yes yes, I promise.” I obeyed.

“Good. Thank you…” he whispered. “I’ll leave you alone now…”

“Sherlock!” I shrieked.

I never wanted this, ever. Yes, I was angry at him for killing my wife, for always being the cause of threat for me and my family, and sometimes I just hate him for all of his flaws. And yes, I wanted to be left alone right now. But not like this, never like this. 

He was still my best friend – and only true friend. I imagined that one day, everything will be good again. After I had enough time to process what happened and to have some mourning-time for Mary, afterwards there would surely be time for reconciliation…

“Goodbye John…” Sherlock whispered.

“No don’t..” I tried.

I regretted not saying anything. I regretted shutting my only true friend out of my life. And yes, I had hoped that it was enough too, what happened back then. I could have told him about my feelings too. I could have said ‘no’ to Mary at the altar. I could’ve gone back to working with Sherlock after the wedding. I could have done SOMETHING.

But when I heard a gunshot and the phone click, I knew it was too late.


	6. ...didn't say at all

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final scene in 'The Great Game' (S1E3) with a twisted ending.

-Sherlock’s POV-

„Sorry boys! I am soooooo changeable!” Moriarty shrieked as he suddenly reentered the room.

Immediately, my heart started beating again incredibly fast. I quickly turned around to ensure that the voice wasn’t just imagination and that it was actually the human embodiment of Satan standing a few meters away from me and John.

“It is a weakness with me but to be fair to myself – it’s my only weakness!” Jim Moriarty laughed while gesturing wildly.

I nervously started to fidget around with the gun that was still in my hand, as I noticed the red dots on John’s chest. My breathing immediately stopped. 

This feeling that John, my best and only friend, could die any minute, was just the worst feeling in the entire world. I would have given anything – ANYTHING – to save him. I then noticed the red dot on my own chest as well and realized what probably was about to happen.

I have always felt very indifferent about death. I know how inevitable it is and with a man with my profession, death will come sooner or later. I did not care about my life in any way. But I wasn’t indifferent about John’s death and I was here to ensure until my last minute that nothing will happen to him in any way.

A few minutes ago, when I walked into this building and stood by the pool, my heart stopped when I saw John walk in. For literally 30 seconds I honestly believed that this man that I call my best friend had tricked me for months into thinking that he was just this cute, naïve army doctor, while in the meantime he was really the criminal mastermind James Moriarty.

Then however, he revealed that he was wearing a jacket filled with dynamite, because he could probably tell what I was thinking. My heart started beating again, however unnaturally fast. The only thing worse than being tricked by your best friend is seeing your best friend die in front of your eyes. 

When then this weird Jim, Molly’s boyfriend, stepped out of the dark and revealed to be the criminal mastermind I was expecting, I felt even more betrayed. How could I not notice him? Normally I was able to tell such things from only seeing a person. Later he revealed, that all the clues that I jumped on during our first meeting were on purpose.  
After Moriarty told me about his dark deeds out in the big bad world, I started to get horrified that there was honestly a person smarter than me and, even worse, who didn’t use his skills for the good. However, I admired him. I never met a person of my intellect before and if I did, they never managed to outsmart me like he did. My horror at his crimes was lost in my admiration at his skill. 

Jim Moriarty then threatened me and John, and tried to blackmail me into doing what he wanted. In an unexpected moment, John jumped onto Moriarty from behind and held him tight in his grip, so incase the snipers would shoot, Moriarty would go down with him. 

First I was terrified at the thought of John and Moriarty dying in front of me. But then I admired John’s strength and bravery. Even in a moment like this, he was still the soldier, taking a risk for the greater good. John told me to run. He wanted to save me. 

“You can’t be allowed to continue – you just can’t.” Jim said with a devilish smile on his features.

In this moment, I looked down at where John was sitting and locked eyes with him. His pupils were dilated in fear and his mouth was slightly opened. Little drops of sweat were forming on his forehead and I noticed on his chest that he was breathing heavily.

This view made my heart do a little flip. The pure fear in John’s eyes, the helplessness… 

I knew there was nothing I could do to help him. If I moved just one finger, the snipers would take either me or John down. So I better wouldn’t risk anything. 

“I would try to convince you but, everything I have to say has already crossed your mind.” Moriarty chuckled, obviously referring to one of my answers I gave to him only a few minutes ago. 

In that moment, an idea sparked in my head. I remembered that right in front of me laid the dynamite on the floor that I ripped off of John as soon as we felt secure. I just wanted to make sure to get this thing as far away from John as possible. 

I had a silly idea that normally, I would just brush off. It happened a lot that I would get stupid ideas; my brain was as fast as a jet. However this idea stuck with me a while longer. I already mentioned how indifferent I am about my own death and, on the contrary, how much I wanted to protect John. But in this moment I really didn’t see any possible way out of here besides…

Apparently John had the same idea as I did. Our eyes locked again and he gave me a little nod, reassuring my plans. He didn’t need to say anything. I understood and he understood me. 

“Then probably my answer has crossed yours.” I said, trying to sound steady. I pointed the gun towards the dynamite, ready to fire if necessary. I did not want to do this.

At this point, I would have expected some of Moriarty’s helpers to come rush in and safe him or tackle me or something. At least, I would have expected Moriarty to become scared and try to save the situation himself. But as he saw that I pointed the gun towards the explosives, his smile grew just wider and he tilted his head slightly. He did not seem impressed by the slightest. 

I waited. And waited. I could hear John heavily breathing next to me, as we were all staring down at the explosives. I just waited for a miracle to happen, literally anything. I did not want to go down like this.

Thinking about it though, the inevitable outcome of this situation wasn’t all too bad. I knew I could not bear the loss of John and he probably couldn’t bare my death. In this way however, we would not have to live one second without the other person. Because, as sad as it is, if one of us were to die, we would only miss each other. Neither of us had any super close relatives or friends that would even care as much. 

My index finger laid on the trigger, ready to pull in case anything was going to happen. 

Sadly, there were still so many things left unsaid between my companion and me. There were things I never got the chance to tell John in all those last months. Yes, we’ve only known each other for about 6 months, yet I can confirm that I’ve never had such an intimate relationship with anyone. Yes, John was straight and I don’t know what I am, yet I felt the best when I am with him. He made me feel this excitement that I normally only got during cases. He was the only person who could make me laugh and the only person who could make me swoon. 

All these things I wanted to tell him, all the moments and emotions we shared… just… finished.

I felt a tear roll down my cheek and I just hoped that neither John nor Moriarty would notice. On the other hand, why would they care right now.

‘Ha Ha Ha Ha Stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive’ a sudden sound echoed through the room. I furrowed my brows and risked a confused glance towards John, wondering if he knew what was going on.

The miracle I had prayed for had happened, as Moriarty rolled his eyes and sighed. “Mind if I get that?” he asked, fumbling a phone out of his chest pocket. 

THAT WAS JAMES MORIARTYS RING TONE?! The same guy who let a block of flats explode because a woman started to describe his voice? The same person who helped probably millions of criminals with their crimes? The same criminal mastermind that tricked an entire group of people into thinking he was an awkward, gay IT-expert?

“No no please, you’ve got the rest of your life!” I said, still aiming the gun towards the explosives.  
John chuckled at my remark and with that, my thoughts drifted back to him. In that moment, I did not care about Moriarty’s phone call, I only cared about my best friend who was still sitting on the floor next to me. 

“Are you okay?” I mouthed, barely audible. John simply nodded at this and it felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders.

“SAY THAT AGAIN!” Jim suddenly screamed into his phone, my head snapping back towards my enemy in front of me. 

After a threat, he ended the phone call and looked towards us almost resigned. “Sorry… wrong day to die.” He apologized. 

While I was watching him leave the room, I wondered what person or THING could make James Moriarty change his mind. To be quite honest, he seemed to enjoy killing people, so whoever called him must own something of incredible value that Moriarty would just drop this opportunity to kill me. 

The door slammed shut behind him and for just a second, you could hear a pin drop in the room. Even the regular gurgling of the pool seemed to have stopped this exact second. I still stayed in my place, the gun still pointing at the dynamite and my eyes glued to the door, expecting him to return any second. But apparently, Jim Moriarty must have left the place. 

With a small huff, John got up from his sitting position and stood next to me, breathing deeply. 

In one motion, I just let the gun drop and threw my arms around the shorter man. I buried my face into his hair and started sobbing like a child. I was shivering all over my body and I felt tears run down my face. Right now, I just didn’t care anymore.

I felt John’s strong hand in the nape of my neck, smoothly caressing my skin. “Shh, everything’s fine now.” John whispered, trying to hold me still.

“Good god…” I just sobbed, breaking down onto my knees. 

John immediately came down with me, pulling me into his chest. 

I can’t remember the last time that I have cried honest tears. I did fake-cry a lot actually, to get what I wanted. But this uncontrollable crying, here in John’s arms, was nothing I had ever experienced before. Even as a child, I could not remember ever crying this heavily about anything. In all these years, I got used to wearing my cold mask and to not show any emotions. For them to just come bursting out like they did right now was far from usual. And John noticed it too – although he was trying to calm me, he surely wasn’t used to calming a grown man that was taller than him.

“I was so scared…” I managed to weep. 

John’s hand slowly moved up and down my back. “I was too…” he said.

In moments like this you realize how important it can be to say the things that matter while you still can. Regretting it afterwards doesn’t help you or anyone. I am grateful that me and John got a second chance. Maybe, this was a sign for something. I never believed in higher powers but maybe I should start to.

“I could… I wanted…” I tried to say, but failed horribly.

“Shh… it’s okay. What did you want to say?” John asked after a few minutes of silence.

“I just so desperately wanted to save you John. I could not have lived with myself if I’d let you die. So when you agreed, that we would die together…I… was happy because I knew I would not have to live a day without you.” I managed to say, quietly.

I looked up into John’s deep blue eyes and saw a look of pure astonishment in them. And in that moment, I could feel it, he knew.


	7. ...under the stars and in the grass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While John and Sherlock are at a Highschool party, they are both not interested in playing 'Spin the bottle'. Therefore, they find other things to keep them busy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of fluff. Highschool!Lock / Teen!Lock

-Sherlock’s POV- 

“Guys, wanna play ‘Spin the bottle’?” Molly shrieked and dramatically waved her hands.

She was greeted with a sea of excited yells. Everyone was immediately getting up to settle in a circle on the ground, besides me and John. John probably wasn’t really the one for party games like this. And for my part, I wanted to only kiss one person…

“Want to make it more fun?” Greg proposed smirking. “Whenever someone refuses to kiss another person, they have to take a shot!” 

Now everyone was applauding him. I was clearly out at this point. I previously even considered taking part in this game to not be the odd one out, but now that it turned into a drinking game I abandoned this thought. I was strictly against alcohol.

Therefore, this whole evening has been a very ‘special’ experience for me. It was Molly’s 18th birthday today and she had invited everyone for a big garden party. It was the end of May so it was already warm enough to stay outside, even in the night. 

Obviously the people at this party were all people I knew from school; however I was only close with Greg, Molly and John. I didn’t really like everyone else and they probably didn’t like me either. 

This evening went on and while the barbeque was actually super tasty, there was a lot of alcohol being consumed. Molly was clearly the one drinking the most, but she was forgiven, it was her birthday after all. She was already quite tipsy, which was noticeable as she swayed a little while sitting down  
.   
Naturally, I had secretly watched John throughout the evening, and all he drank was one beer and a lot of coke. I mean, I’m always watching John anyway, so I noticed. 

“I’m out everyone.” I proclaimed, holding my hands up in defense, which was greeted by a lot of booing from the people sitting on the floor. 

I was happy with my choice. Watching this whole fiasco would be amusing already and it would save me from potentially kissing Phillip. 

“Oh no Sherlock, come on!”Molly begged.

And this was where the chaos starts. Phillip was in love with Sally, but she wasn’t interested. Greg was in a relationship with my brother, but secretly in love with Molly. Molly had flirted with me on multiple occasions and made her interest in me more than clear. She probably even only initiated this game so she had a chance of kissing me. I, however, was in love with someone else…

“I’m out as well.” a deep voice said right behind my back. John lightly touched my shoulder as he stood next to me. It felt as if his finger tips send lightning bolts through my body. 

“Come on guys, it’ll be fun!” now Greg tried to convince us.

“I wanted to take a quick walk around here. Your house is located so awesome, Molly!” John stated next to me.

And he was right – Molly’s house was literally two minutes away from a small lake in our town. You only had to walk the small path down the hill she was living on and you were right and this little beach. Obviously, the water was still way too cold to go swimming this time, but the beach was lined with beautiful pathways that were perfect for a little walk. The flowers and trees were blooming now that it was late spring and the birds were chirping. Now however, during the night, you could hear the sounds of the leaves in the wind and the chirping of the crickets. 

“Want to join me?” John asked in my direction. 

My head snapped over to face him. I heard the other’s yell through my thoughts. A romantic walk with John around the most beautiful landscape I’ve ever laid eyes upon – was tonight the night I could…?

“Yeah sure. I’d like that.” I answered quietly. The other’s still heard everything, as it was dead silent. These creepy people obviously didn’t want to miss anything.

John gave me a lopsided smile and walked over towards his chair to fetch his jeans jacket, in case the air would cool down even more. I was already wearing my jacket; I was feeling a little chilly already. John started to walk ahead, after he ensured I was following him. 

We walked right around the house and onto the pathway, as we heard Sebastian yell: “Go bang!”

I was so glad that it was already dark outside, so John could not see that I was immediately blushing crimson at this comment. It wasn’t the first however. There have been many times when several people told me to finally go get him, to take the next step, to just be honest. For whatever reason, I have never been brave enough to tell John. So this ever ending pining kept going strong.

I quickly checked my phone – it was already 0:23am. Normally I would already be in bed sleeping tight, but tonight I was willing to stay awake a little longer. 

“Beautiful isn’t it?” John asked, looking up at the night sky. The sky was so clear that you could see all of the stars. 

I was looking over at him. “True.” I said then. 

We kept walking for a while. John intuitively took the longer path and I was totally fine with that. The longer the path, the longer I got to spent with him. 

Following John’s statement, I really started to take in the nature around me. The soft crunching of the pebbles and sand under my soles, the soft swaying of the culms in the wind, the sound of the near water…

I am a practical guy, all I care about is science and scientific proof. I never really had a thing for nature or sentimental things. But when one certain person comes into your life and turns your world upside down, you start to reconsider things you previously thought were secure. It’s true though, when you take your time and look at the small things, nature can be incredibly beautiful. 

As we were walking up a small hill and the path got narrower, John walked closer to me and our bare hands were brushing against each other. For one second, I thought John would take my hand and I would have gladly taken his. But all he did was immediately flinch away as soon as his skin touched mine. 

“Wow.” John stated breathless, as we reach the top of the little hill. 

He was so right. The view was breathtakingly beautiful. On top of this little hill, you could overlook the entire lake that was beautifully illuminated by the moon that was specifically bright tonight. In the distance you could see the lights of the next city and the few people that were still awake. 

“Do you want to stay here for a while?” John asked in such a soft voice that sent a shiver down my spine. I just nodded shyly. 

The grass was surprisingly dry under my bum, normally it would already be dew everywhere. 

“John…could you come a little closer please?” I asked, surprised at my own courage. John sat down a few feet away from me, probably to give me some space.

“Sure… why though?” He asked, inching closer.

“I feel a little cold…” I said honestly, trying to bury myself deeper in my jacket. 

“You want my jacket?” John kindly offered, already making motions to strip off his jacket that he pulled on during our walk here.

“No no, I don’t want you to freeze…” I answered shyly, although in reality I wanted to scream ‘YES YES YES!’.

“Alright, come here!” he exclaimed and suddenly sat down incredibly close to me. He gently cupped the sides of my waist with his hands and softly pulled me closer, until we were leaned towards each other.

‘This is so much better!’ I thought, taking in all of John’s scent. He smelled incredibly manly, like aftershave, dirt and wood. In some ways, he smelled like home. 

We sat for a while in silence, the warmth radiating from his skin warming me up. My head had sunken down onto John’s strong shoulder, my curls probably tickling his neck.   
I then looked up to him and saw, even in darkness, how his eyes sparkled as he took in all the nature around himself. During these summer months, John would never be seen inside. Only for sleep he would return to his room. Whenever he could, he would walk or bike around our little town, stopping at lakes and pools. Every minute he had to spend inside during summer was wasted for him, he would say.

John could probably feel my stare, as he suddenly turned his head to look at me. Suddenly, our lips were only centimeters apart and I could feel John’s warm breath on my face. John’s eyes shifted from my eyes to my lips and stayed there. I was begging in my mind that he would just DO IT. So I stayed in place and closed my eyes, waiting for his lips to finally meet mine. 

I finally felt John come closer and then, our lips were almost touching. I took a sharp breath in that John apparently misinterpreted. He pulled away quickly. “I’m sorry” he said, removing his hand from my waist and bringing it up to my shoulder. 

“Don’t be.” I said quietly, my eyes still closed.

“Sherlock, I…” John started and I opened my eyes to look at his blue ones who suddenly were so full of fear. “I’m in love with you.” 

The way John said it, so innocent and sheepish, made my heart do a little jump. It has been months since I started to imagine him saying this to me in whatever scenario. This right here was just perfect. The only thing that was missing was fireworks, like in those trashy romantic movies. 

“I’m sorry, I just finally needed to say it.” John started to explain quickly. “And I know we’re just friends and you’re probably not even interested in men and I didn’t know if-“

I cut him short by simply cupping his face and pulling it towards mine. I needed him to just stop talking. Finally, after all this time, our lips met and my eyes immediately fluttered shut. 

The first kiss was hard and forced, but then we shortly parted and tried it again. His soft lips met mine once again and it was as if I was dreaming. Our lips slowly and softly moved against each other, slightly changing position every now and then. The kiss wasn’t demanding or harsh or hard or seductive. It was just pure and soft, and everything I’ve ever imagined and better. 

While we continued our kiss, we were slowing lying down onto the grass, facing each other. John hands gently brushed the back of my neck, his hand travelling down to my waist. I was grasping the short hair on the back of his head, trying to hold him as close as possible. 

After a while we shortly parted for air. John rested his forehead against mine and pulled me closer. He pecked the top of my head and pulled me to his chest. I laid my head on his broad and muscular chest, taking in another whiff of his smell. Lying like this, it allowed John to be the taller one for once; normally I’m a few inches taller than him. 

“Does that mean you…?” John tried to ask.

I smiled and looked back up at him. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for you to say these words.”


	8. ...while we were driving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock are in college and decide to take a weekend trip to the beach.

-John’s POV- (College!Lock)

“I’m telling you, we need to turn right here!” Sherlock yelled at me from the passenger’s seat. He was almost invisible, buried under approximately 10 different road maps.

“Sherlock we have been her twice already! Are you sure?” I chuckled, slowly losing my patience.

“Yes I promise you, go!” Sherlock answered and dramatically waved his hand in the right direction.

So I turned the steering wheel and off we went on a country road.  
It has become a habit with me and Sherlock to take the weekends off from studying and just drive somewhere we wanted to. These road trips were both fun and annoying, as Sherlock was almost as stubborn as I was. Therefore, trying to find the right direction could be tricky.  
Today, we decided we would try to go to the nearest beach, which was around 25 miles away from our university. 

I got to know Sherlock over a year ago when on the first day of college this tall, curly haired guy was suddenly standing in the middle of my dorm room, trying to get me out of it. He was absolutely convinced that it was his, and only HIS, room and that I was an intruder. Apparently, he didn’t really understand the concept of a SHARED room and probably still doesn’t. 

Frankly, he was still a nuisance most of the time. However at this stage in our relationship, I still found it cute.

“What are you smiling about?” A certain someone asked from the passenger’s seat. 

I just defensively shook my head. I didn’t want him to know that it was him I was smiling about, it would only encourage him. 

For a while, we fell silent in my tiny car. When I’m saying tiny, I mean tiny. It only has 3 doors, hits barely 100kmh and the brakes squeal. However, this was still better than no car at all, and Sherlock was literally the only person who never complained about my car. When I told him I had one, he just got all excited and immediately suggested places we could travel together.

Which we then did more and more often. A bad habit Sherlock had that I could barely tolerate was that he always had to buy a sticker from every sight we visited and stick it onto my car. Sherlock always acted as if it was his too, so he started to buy air fresheners, little plushies for the dashboard and even a dream-catcher to hang on the rear-vision mirror.  
He even proudly told every about this too, which naturally lead a lot of people into thinking that we were a couple. I mean, I can’t say I haven’t thought about it at some point, but it really wasn’t the case. Now our fellow college students would always sing silly poems whenever we’d walk past. I’m not really sure if they actually mean it. 

“Oh for god’s sake, I forgot my sunglasses!” Sherlock whined suddenly. 

“You always forget your sunglasses.” I answered  
.  
“No, you don’t get it! I need them! Please drive back!” he begged.

“For fuck’s sake, we’re almost at the beach and because we went wrong so many times, we don’t have that much time left before we need to go back anyway. So please relax, you won’t get sunburn on your eyeballs.” I sighed, brushing my palm over my face.

“But what if, John. WHAT IF?!” he started to yell, grabbing on to my right arm and shaking it.

“Let go! I can’t drive properly like this!” I exclaimed, trying to keep on the road.

“You can NEVER drive properly.” Sherlock said, before turning away from me and pouting at the window.

This was how most of our trips went. Sherlock forgot something, we would fight and then he would pout. Every single time. But we both couldn’t really be mad at the other person for too long, so these conversations felt more like a routine than an actual fight.

“You know… it is Saturday after all, why don’t we just spend the night at the beach?” Sherlock suggested out of his pout. “Then we would have more time?”

I briefly looked over to him. If he thought about that this would mean that we’d have to sleep together in my car? In my tiny tiny car? 

Not that sleeping tightly next to Sherlock was something new…  
In that moment I remembered when we once helped Greg move into his new place. Greg was a few years older than us so naturally, he graduated from college and soon moved into his own place. It was about 4 hours of driving away from our college, so me, Sherlock and a few other friends stayed the night at Greg’s place after we helped him move. We went to get some takeout, had a couple of beers, went to bed and drove home the next morning.

It somehow happened that Sherlock, his absentminded self, forgot to bring a lilo or even a blanket, so we ended up sharing the airbed that I brought. So that night, we would lie next to each other, sharing a blanket, tightly pressed against each other. Unlike Sherlock, I didn’t get a lot of sleep. All I could focus on was the slim silhouette moving even the slightest bit. The way his chest would lift and fall. The way his long fingers would slightly move when he was dreaming. In every passing second, I felt Sherlock’s breath against my chest. His curls tickled my chin, as he had laid his head on my chest. 

For Sherlock, this experience wasn’t as nearly as embarrassing as it was for me. Because I couldn’t sleep, all I did was start to fantasize about things that someone shouldn’t fantasize about when pressed to their best friend. 

“Alright, whatever.” Sherlock replied to my silence. 

He pressed a few buttons on the car radio and got the cassette player to work.

My car wasn’t only tiny, it was also very old. I think it was built in the 1990’s, which was the reason for the cassette slot. Sherlock didn’t care, he loved everything that was vintage and old-school. Therefore, he had even made a mixtape for my car, like in the old romantic movies. He had recorded all of our favorite songs so we could listen to some music while in the car.

This was only one of the few changes he brought into my car. 

Although I was still deep in thought, the sound of my favorite song blasting through the terrible speakers in the car cheered me up immediately. I turned my head to flash a broad smile at Sherlock, who answered my expression with a smug grin. This little bugger somehow always knew what to do to cheer me up. 

“She played the fiddle in an irish band but she fell in love with an English man, kissed her on the neck and then I took her by the hand, said “Baby I just wanna dance!”” I started to shout the first lines to the song. Apparently Ed Sheeran was a big thing in the UK, but we didn’t care. Whatever song we liked, we would listen to.

Sherlock’s expression changed into a half-disgusted, half-amused expression. I knew I wasn’t the best singer, but I didn’t care. And apparently, Sherlock didn’t either, because after a second, he would start singing as well.

And this was just how it went on – the car seemed to find its own way towards the beach, while Sherlock and I were jamming along to our favorite tracks. 

A few songs later, the tune changed to a slower song and we both stopped singing. We needed to catch our breaths first. Through singing and giggling, we forgot to breathe.  
The song that was playing was ‘Saturn’ by Sleeping at last, so naturally we didn’t sing along. The song was way too beautiful to ruin it with our voices.

Therefore, we just fell into a comfortable silence listening to the song. Sherlock wound down his window a bit, so the warm airflow blew through his curly hair. He pulled his legs up on his seat, resting his head on the headrest. He closed his eyes and seemed to just enjoy the moment. 

This made me smile. I remembered all the times when we were around other people, how neat and strict Sherlock would behave. Always walking upright, his gestures calculated and on point. When he spoke, it was always as though he had rehearsed it previously. 

To see him next to me, so vulnerable but free at the same time, just not concerned about what other people might think of him, was a view I could get enough of. Yes Sherlock had changed me, but so did I. I made him into a more tolerable and social being, because I would always force him to go to parties and gatherings with me. When he got emotional, I would support him to show it and not suppress it. However at the same time, I would accept all his quirks and behaviors just the way they were, even though they would drive me crazy most times.

He changed me? I can’t believe I just thought that.

Thinking about it however, it didn’t seem so farfetched. I come from a very conservative and strict family environment. For my entire life, I always questioned my sexuality and identity. My dad, who had already disowned my sister because she was a lesbian, always used to teach me how wrong homosexuality or even bisexuality was. And I would listen.  
In my teen years, I would always act like this super straight jock in the football team that could have any girl. And to be honest, I could. Whenever a party happened, I could choose any girl I wanted and they gladly went with me. No one knew that I secretly just wanted to slow dance with another boy. 

With that mentality, that I had to suppress who I was, I came to this city to go to college. As soon as this tall, bushy-haired man stumbled into my life, my pretending was out the window. Whenever I would pull the good old ‘no homo’, Sherlock just wouldn’t care. He was the flamboyant gay kid that you would read about in John Green books. And he was flaunting it. 

As the months went past and I noticed, that literally NO ONE cared who you loved or who you were, I started to let my guards down. I started to lightly flirt with both guys and girls, and went on dates with a lot of people, and no one cared. 

All because of Sherlock, all because he would always give me the feeling of acceptance. Even when I would drunkenly come stumbling back to my dorm room after a rough night and he would just give me ‘the look’. 

I could be who I was, and I had all these good people around me that would support me.

As I refocused on reality, I saw the beach appear in front of us. The sun just started to hit the horizon, and I just smiled at how perfect everything was.

“What are you smiling about?” Sherlock asked from beside me, eyeing me curiously. 

I smiled and looked over. “You.”


	9. ...when you were crying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Mary's death, John has an emotional break-down at 221B. Sherlock tries to help.

-Sherlock’s POV-

The tears were dripping down John’s face, while he tried to cover his face in his hands. He just stood there, silently sobbing in the living room of 221b. And I sat here, opposite him in my armchair. Emotions flooded over me like a big wave. I was unsure if this was still the drugs wearing off or if it were actually my feelings for John bubbling up. Seeing him here, in this much pain, was nothing I could take much longer.

I sat my cup of tea down on the small tray table beside me and slowly stood up. I walked towards him and opened my arms to invite him into a hug. 

“It’s okay…” I said, approaching him.

But John backed off. He took his hands away from his face, revealing his red swollen eyes.

“It’s not okay!” he screamed at me, his hands balled into fists.

I began to tremble all over. I was never the best at reading people, even though it had gotten easier with John. At the moment however, I was unsure if his anger was directed towards me or towards… I don’t know what else.

“Hey, calm down, it will be fine…” I tried to comfort him in my most soothing voice, trying to approach him one more time. 

“You just don’t get it.” John whispered.

In a quick pace, John stomped towards the staircase and made his way up. First, I was totally dumbstruck at what just happened. The only thing I was sure of was to definitely go after him. 

So I followed after him up the stairs that led to his bed room. However when I arrived at his room, the door was shut. I hesitated- my palm rested on the cold handle, unable to press it down. I thought again – maybe John wanted to be left alone right now?

But speaking from the past, if John wanted to be left alone, he always told me. Also, right now, I just couldn’t leave him alone. So I pressed the handle down and soon had to notice, that John apparently locked the door behind him.

“John, come on, let me talk to you…” I said, resting my head against the door to hear his response.

But there never was one. All I could hear was hushed sobs and sniffles behind the closed door.

With a sigh, I turned around and leaned against the wooden door, my fingers digging into the fibers. I couldn’t leave him, not now. If John wanted me to go, he would need to precisely tell me so, otherwise I will not leave his side. Just like he hadn’t left my side the entire day, but I knew that it was just to make sure I didn’t take any more drugs.  
I guess it was ludicrous to think that John would actually care and come back to 221B because he wanted to. I honestly hoped that after Mary’s death, him and Rosie would come back here and be with me. Sure, this apartment was far from being baby-save, but we would have managed, like we always do…

I’m not particularly good with babies, but to be frank I wasn’t good with grown-ups either. But I was always hoping that in some way, Rosie and I would get along. Now that Mary was gone, of course I was ready to help John however I could. However, that was a little hard to do if he kept pushing me away.

“What can I do? I already apologized about a hundred times for… letting Mary die. If I could undo it, I would!” I said, begging once again for John to forgive me. 

I chose the words ‘letting Mary die’ wisely. John always used the term that I ‘killed’ Mary, but that wasn’t what happened.   
It was Vivian Norbury who killed Mary. 

After we had tracked her down and met her in the aquarium, she told us about her evil plans to sell government secrets for her own benefits and she admitted that she had manipulated the A.G.R.A. mission, which was the original reason why Mary had to disappear in the first place. 

Yes, Norbury wanted me dead, so she pointed her gun towards me. But as Mary saw, that it was her plan to kill me, she jumped in front of me, so the bullet hit her, not me. There was nothing that I could have done to save her. 

Whenever I tried to tell John this, he wouldn’t let me finish. He insisted on his story that at their wedding, I promised to keep both of them safe. Sadly, I wasn’t able to keep my promise. Now, only Rosie and John are left and I will try to at least save them, if necessary. Mary may have taken a bullet for me so we are even, but I would take a bullet for John any day without hesitating.

John entered the scene too late; he didn’t see what had happened. So when he entered the room, Mary was on the floor bleeding and all I did was stand by and look at her in shock. 

John immediately fell down on his knees to be with his wife and my heart started to break even more, when Mary started to make her final confessions. She told John that being ‘Mary Watson’ was all she ever wanted, that she loved him and Rosie until the end of time and that she was so glad to share so much of her time with John.   
When Mary died in John’s arms and he just cried and cried, it totally shattered my heart. No matter how much Mary did or didn’t love John, I loved him twice as much. A confession that I have never shared with anyone thus far and that probably no one will ever hear. 

After Mary’s death, John completely abandoned me. I wasn’t allowed to see either him or Rosie, even if I just wanted to help. That was the final straw for me to start doing drugs again. 

Normally I only took drugs when I was bored or when I needed my mind sharpened. But in this instance, all I needed was the high from the drugs to distract me from the lows that came from my feelings for John. The feelings that I had and he didn’t.   
Whenever there was a moment in our lives, when even for a second I had considered that maybe he felt the same, all the chances we had and that I never took, all of them gone within a second.

I let myself slide down the front of the door, until I was sitting on the floor, still leaning against the door. 

I still couldn’t see John, but I could still hear the muffled sobs behind the closed door. Even if I couldn’t see, I couldn’t bear the thought of John crying.

Even if I always acted like I didn’t have feelings, one only had to look close enough to see that I used to always be the emotional one. John most of the time perfectly hid it, especially when it were negative feelings. He was always ‘the man’, showing emotion just wasn’t John. But now that I knew he was full on crying in there, all I wanted was to comfort him. With words, with hugs, with presence, with whatever he needed. 

“I know that I can never undo what I did. But I promise you, if you let me, I will at least take care of you and Rosie.” I tried once again.

“It’s not that…” I heard the quietest voice from inside the room. 

“John?” I asked excitedly. Good, talking. At least something. “What do you mean?”

“Do you honestly believe I could blame YOU if SHE decided to jump in front of that bullet?” John asked sarcastically.

“Wait… you saw?” I asked. I was always under the impression that John didn’t actually know what happened at the aquarium. 

“I did.” he answered slowly. He sniffled. “I stood in the entrance and I just couldn’t move. When I saw that Norbury pointed that gun at you…”

“Yeah, I couldn’t move either.” I huffed. “And frankly, that was my fault…”

Silence fell upon us again. It was a big step that John actually just talked to me, so I needed to keep it up somehow. I needed to say something, anything. 

“If you… don’t blame me… then why are you so angry right now?” I asked carefully. I still didn’t know if that was still a touchy subject. 

“Because… “ he tried. “No matter how much I loved her… I always wanted more. I wanted someone ELSE more…”

“The girl on the bus…” I choked.

“What kind of terrible husband cheats on his wife within in the first year of being married? And I’m not only a terrible husband; I’m also a terrible father. I was ready to neglect Rosie too to just…” he wasn’t able to finish. His tears cut off his voice and send a shiver down my spine.

Yes, it hurt. It hurt so much hearing him talk about all the women he was in love with or who he ‘wanted’. But it hurt even more to hear him cry, so in that moment I just wanted to hug him so tight that all his broken pieces would get glued together again. 

“But you never actually met with this girl right? So technically it’s not cheating…” I started.

“For Christ’s sake Sherlock I’m not talking about the girl on the bus!” I heard John’s loud voice from inside.

I furrowed my brows. “Wait… who are you talking about then?”

No answer. All I heard were the squeaking of the bed, followed by footsteps over the wooden floor I his room. Suddenly the door opened behind my back and I turned my head to look up at John. 

“You, you doofus!”


	10. ...that made me feel like shit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When John's life is suddenly threatened by a villain, Sherlock will say anything to keep him safe. ANYTHING.

-John’s POV-

“Mr Holmes, we can keep playing this game forever you know. I’ve got all the time in the world…” I heard the despicable human say next to my ear.

This scene was one that happened to us quite a lot lately. A villain, in this case McHallan, held a knife to my throat and my hands trapped between my body and his arm. Sherlock stood in front of us, a gun pointed at McHallan and nobody dared to make a move.

It’s as if no villain ever tried something new. 

“I don’t have any information.” Sherlock said, pressing every word through his teeth. His greeny-blue eyes were piercing coldly through McHallans skin. As soon as I noticed this, the villain shifted behind me.

“Ha, don’t treat me like a fool!” McHallan shrieked. “One of my spies clearly heard you saying that you are on the case. And from your reputation it is reasonable to assume that by now you have solved the crime.”

He was right. Sherlock and I DID take the case last week. To his mind, it was ‘intriguing’. 

Apparently, one person in the British royal family had committed a crime. Nobody knew who or what, but an anonymous source provided this much information.

So last week, when Sherlock and I were playing Cluedo once again because we were so bored, his brother Mycroft came to visit us.

First, he tried to act as though he just wanted to have small talk and ‘catch up with his brother’, but obviously neither Sherlock nor I believed that for one second. After he send Mrs Hudson out of the room and made us swear on our graves that we wouldn’t tell anyone, he told us about the latest scandal in Buckingham Palace. 

Mycroft, who normally didn’t bother with the royal family, held a long monologue about his tedious work of keeping this vital information out of the press. Sherlock then, as usual, leaned back in his chair, huffed and assumed that Mycroft wanted him to take the case. 

Mycroft then explained thoroughly that the only information they had until now, was that someone committed a crime. And that was it. 

So, technically, it could’ve been anything from stealing a pack of chewing gum from the gas station to murder. 

Sherlock then just blatantly laughed at Mycroft, as he confessed that there wasn’t even a clue about WHO committed the crime. And even worse – Sherlock was not allowed to go into Buckingham Palace to investigate. After that, Sherlock just brushed his brother off and wanted to continue playing Cluedo, but then suddenly something snapped in his head (as it does most of the time), he folded his hands in front of his mouth and agreed to take the case.

“Yes, your spy was right, we did take the case. But it was way to nebulous so we had to give it up.” Sherlock tried to convince the villain behind me, clutching the gun in front of his body tighter.

That was a lie.

Sherlock actually had all the information. 

What followed after he took the case were never-ending sleepless nights spent in the library, trying to find any sort of connection in the history of the royal family. Also hundreds of interviews with people that had no connection to the royal family whatsoever, researching old newspapers and watching Sherlock wander through his mind palace.  
While this entire case made no sense to me whatsoever, Sherlock had all the information ready after only 5 days. We were just on our way to Mycroft to deliver what we knew, as this guy pulled us into a darkened alley way. He told us that if we would scream, he would kill us both.

And all of the sudden, he was holding me from behind, pressing a 10 inch steak knife to my throat, while Sherlock quickly pulled out his gun.

As I said before, we had been in this exact scene about 10 times before already, so I was a lot calmer than on the first time. Still, having the sharpened blade of a knife touching your throat was still not a good feeling.

“Oh I believe you Mr Holmes!” McHallan chuckled right next to my ear. “What would you think if I’d slice John Watsons throat now huh? Would you know the information then?”

The words he said just sent a shiver through my entire body. Yes, I was used to criminals and death threats and whatnot, but I still wanted to keep on living, at least a little bit.

“As if that would change anything…” Sherlock snorted in derision.

This made me raise an eyebrow. Sherlock’s expression supported his spoken words perfectly. The cold, emotionless eyes squinted and glued onto McHallan. His hands steady, holding the gun. Upright posture, legs steady on the ground. He didn’t even flinch when he said those words.

“You really are a good actor Mr Holmes. But everybody knows how close you are to Dr Watson.” McHallan snorted.

“Well then you would also know that newspapers lie quite a lot.” Sherlock answered in his dark voice. “He’s my colleague, nothing else.”

Every word of his pierced through me like a needle. 

I never told Sherlock how I felt about him. Ever since I met him, I've had feelings for him. Romantic feelings. 

All these years I tried to suppress them, knowing that Sherlock would never feel this way about me. But then my stag night happened and well – it made me reevaluate our situation. That maybe he could feel the same way about me, maybe he was just very good at hiding it…

We never openly talked about our feelings, neither about everything that happened during the stag night. We just let it be. 

But now, to hear him say those words, made me realize that he really was the emotionless machine I got to know him as. 

“What would you even want with this information?” Sherlock answered, still avoiding eye-contact with me.

“Oh well I am pretty certain that the great royal family wouldn’t want their little secrets to get out. And fortunately, I know a few people at the leading newspapers in Great Britain. And since I’m a little strapped for cash at the moment…” McHallan chuckled.

In this moment, Sherlock shifted ever so slightly, readjusting his hands around the gun.

“One wrong move Mr Holmes and your boyfriend will be dead.” McHallan said in an alarming voice, tightening his grip around the knife. 

I tried to push his arm away from myself, but McHallan was about 2 feet taller than myself and weighed approximately 350 pounds, so there wasn’t much that I could do here.

“Pf, don’t bother.” Sherlock snorted again. “I don’t care about him.”

I was on the edge of crying. Not only did Sherlock seem to not have any feelings for me whatsoever, he seemed to not even consider me as a friend. These words that he kept piling on made me feel like shit and in that moment I really wanted to die.

Once again I tried to catch Sherlocks eye. I looked up at him, pain glistening in my eyes. This time however, he caught my stare.

McHallan behind me shuffled, as though he was seriously reevaluating his situation.

In that moment, I saw that look Sherlock shot at me. A look that said “Don’t believe one word I say!” and then I finally understood.

Sherlock did all this to make McHallan believe that there was no point in killing me and therefore save my life. 

Sherlocks look quickly shifted, because he must’ve realized that we were at an impasse – there was nothing here that could be done. If he tried to shoot McHallan, he would kill me. 

But then suddenly, an idea rushed through my head. Something that I had seen in a movie and I was curious if it would work in real life. I quickly thought about and decided that it was worth a shot – literally. 

I nodded ever so slightly at Sherlock. I noticed he visibly made himself ready for whatever was coming next.

“May I say something?” I spoke up for the first time in this conversation.

“Sure thing.” McHallan chuckled. “It’ll be the last thing you will say.”

I noticed that McHallan turned to look at me as I was speaking, a detail in my plan that had to work. And it did.

As I rambled on about how my life had been good up to this point, that I want nothing but the best for my daughter and blah blah blah, I slightly touched the back of McHallans hand with my index finger, something that he didn’t notice, but Sherlock did. 

Everything that happened next was in a blur – Sherlock shot the back of McHallans hand while I was pushing him away. Obviously, McHallan dropped the knife and screamed in pain.

I quickly turned around and gave him a hard kick in his private parts, so that he sunk to the ground. Then, I took a well calculated punch in his face that immediately made him unconscious and he dropped to the cold stone floor.  
While I kicked the knife way out of reach from all of us, Sherlock was already on his phone, calling Mycroft and his minions. 

Sherlock, still the gun in his hand and in an upright position, was providing Mycroft with all the details he needed to know about the royal house scandal and about McHallan, who tried to blackmail them for money.

I stood there, my hands on my knees and breathing heavily from all the excitement. From Sherlocks conversation I could gather that Scotland Yard would come pick the villain up in a few minutes. Sherlock nodded firmly and ended the phone call.

Then we stood there like this – Sherlock with the gun in one hand and the phone in the other hand and me, panting as if I had just run a marathon. The seconds ticked by and we held the others gaze.

And then, all of the sudden, Sherlock dropped both his phone and the gun as if it was garbage, ran towards me and pulled me into a tight hug. He started to sob like a baby next to my head.

For a second, I was completely overwhelmed with all this, because Sherlock NEVER hugs ANYONE. When I heard him cry though, I brought up my hands and softly rested them on his back.

“Oh God John I am so sorry. I didn’t mean what I said. Please you have to believe me.” Sherlock sobbed into the fabric of my jacket. 

“It’s okay, I realized that.” I answered, acting as though I didn’t believe that he actually hated me only a few minutes ago. 

“I just – I couldn’t…” Sherlock started, pulling away from me.

“It’s okay, calm down.” I said in the softest voice possible. 

“But I…” Sherlock tried.

“I know.” I just responded, looking into his deep eyes that were filled with fear, caution and… something else.

We looked at each other for just a moment longer, I was holding onto his shoulders with a firm grip and as I was bringing my hand up to wipe a tear from his eye, our gazes met again. 

And in that moment, I think, we both knew.


	11. ... when I was crying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John finds the unconcious Sherlock in 'His Last Vow'.

trigger warning: Sherlock (almost) dying, blood

-John’s POV-

“No.” I said, almost inaudibly.

All I did was enter the room to see what was taking Sherlock so long upstairs and I came to meet this scenario. Sherlock on the floor, probably unconscious, with blood leaking through his white shirt. On the other end of the room Magnussen, trying to get up from the floor and collect his classes at the same time that had apparently been knocked off from his face.

Now I stood there, unable to even move. On the one hand, I wanted to get down on my knees, see if Sherlock was still alive and if so, help him. But on the other hand I just didn’t want to get too close, because I was afraid of what would happen if he actually WAS dead.

Some kind of major force pulled me towards Sherlock and made my knees give in. I dropped down next to him, my knees hitting carpet just besides Sherlocks frame. 

“Oh God.” I mumbled, as I was opening the front of his coat and jacket wider to examine the blood stain closer.

Apparently a bullet must’ve hit him, right underneath his left breast. The blood was leaking through the wide shirt like a sea made of crimson water. However, there wasn’t ENOUGH blood loss. Normally, a bullet wound of this size would cause more blood to spill. So from that I deduced that the bullet must still be inside Sherlock.

Did I really just say deduce?

It that moment of shock and chaos, I made myself chuckle internally. The way that my mind worked recently was notably influenced by my roommate. I would use words like ‘deduce’ or ‘transparent’ more than ever before and even if I would never admit that to Sherlock, my mind worked more efficiently since I started to ‘eliminate’ the unimportant.  
Sherlock had noticed that too, as he would often give me compliments that I was so much more helpful to him lately. Obviously there was no denying that Sherlock still is and will probably always be the smarter one between the two of us, but it was still nice to hear him say nice things to me.

Oh yes, he was so clever. He probably even calculated in which direction he needed to fall after the bullet hit him, just so he would have even the smallest chance of surviving. But right now, as he was laying here at my side, eyes closed and mouth slightly opened, it didn’t seem like that plan worked out so well.

“What happened?” I asked, more aggressively than I intended.

“He got shot.” Magnussen answered with clear sarcasm in his voice. As clever as that man made himself out to be, he clearly had a very silly side to himself.

“Who shot him?” I now full on screamed at the man, incapable of taking any sort of humor right now. Not when my best friend was about to die.

As I waited for Magnussens response, I already fumbled my phone out of my pocket, dialing 999.

But Magnussen didn’t answer. He just smiled disdainfully, slowly putting his glasses back on his nose.

“999 what is your emergency?” a woman’s voice answered the call almost immediately.

I tried to stay as calm as I possibly could while I gave her all the necessary information. What happened, where we were, who I was and how many people were injured.

While I was answering a few background questions she had, I was guiding my free hand to Sherlocks wrist, checking for pulse. After all, I was still a doctor and while a paramedic could probably help Sherlock a lot better, I still wasn’t going to waste precious minutes that could possibly keep Sherlock alive.

The woman on the phone said something to me, but I didn’t listen. Because I noticed a much more important thing – Sherlock was still alive.

His pulse was very weak and irregular, but he still had a pulse. I figured that the woman from the emergency call had enough information until now, so I carelessly dropped the phone to my sight and leaned closely over Sherlocks mouth, noticing a shallow breath.

“Sherlock? Sherlock, can you hear me?” I tried, carefully tapping his cheek.

These words and this situation brought back all the emotions I had tried to suppress for the last 3 years.

Sherlock standing at the edge of that rooftop, flinging himself down onto the concrete and making me watch. How I ran over to him, trying and hoping to get a breath, a twitch, something out of him. All those people holding me back. And I just kept on screaming ‘Sherlock, can you hear me.’

After all, he could. But back then, I didn’t know that. I honestly thought my best friend, the person I loved more than anything else in this entire world, was laying here in front of me, with a pool of blood around his head.

It took me years to get that image out of my head. And it still sometimes haunts me in nightmares. Until 6 months ago, I was hurting, but it was manageable. But when he then suddenly returned, revealing his ruse to us in that restaurant, I wanted to kill him but at the same time hug and kiss him. 

I was mad because he left me to grief, completely alone for 2 years. Because he came back too late. Too late for me to go back and undo the marriage proposal. But I was happy because it was HIM. Because only HE could stand in the middle of that restaurant with a fake mustache and make inappropriate jokes the second he came back from the ‘dead’. Because there was now I possibility I could return to this exciting life that I used to have with him. Because we got another chance. 

A chance that I didn’t yet take.

“Who. Shot. Him.” I said through my teeth, making each word sound more threatening than the last one.

“Do you really want to know?” Magnussen said in his Danish accent, propping himself up on his knees. His right eye was starting to bruise; I assumed the shooter hit him in the face with something.

I ignored his vague answer and turned to face Sherlock again. I noticed how my hand was still cupping his face. His pale, cold face.

What happened next made me feel dizzy.

I had located my index finger under his nose to check his breathing, and suddenly I noticed there was no air being sucked in or out. My stomach completely dropped as I frantically checked his pulse and his breathing once again. Nothing.

“No. Shit Shit Shit.” I said under my breath. 

I knew what I had to do. With my palm, I firmly pressed down on his chest in a rhythmic motion.

1,2,3,4….

I counted to 30, then quickly wiped the back of my hand over my eyes and then…

I pinched Sherlock’s nose, opened his mouth wide and located myself above him to perform the mouth-to-mouth insufflation. My face came down to his, blowing air into his lungs.

I never imagined it like this. The first time our lips would touch. I never, never wanted it to be like this.

I always imagined to be in 221b, maybe after an exhausting case. We would just find comfort in each other’s company and then I would finally confess what I had wanted to say for so long. It would be after I had broken up with Mary, for whatever creative reason I made up. I would tell him, he would agree and I could finally close the distance between us.  
Or maybe it would be different – maybe we would be tipsy or drunk at Greg’s next birthday party or something. We would be dancing, having fun and then when we would return to 221b have even MORE fun. 

But never like this. Not when in this moment, I just sincerely hoped that Sherlock would start breathing again.

“Sherlock please.” I begged, going back to chest compression. “Please breathe for me.”

In that moment I heard a high-pitched ring run through my head. At that point, I wasn’t entirely sure if it was real or just a sound generated by my brain. 

“I’ll just get that, if you don’t mind.” Magnussen said and calm as he could be left the room.

‘The paramedics!’ I thought, trying to stay clear headed.

Suddenly, I heard Sherlock beneath me give a small, sharp breath. I immediately stopped in my tracks. My hand darted to his wrist and thankfully, I noticed a small pulse.

“Sherlock? Sherlock it’s me John!” I said, more sobbing than actually speaking. 

A few sharp breaths followed.

“John…” I heard him say, almost inaudible. 

“Yes, Sherlock, I am here!” I said, trying to sound confident. I cupped his face again and leaned over him.

“It…” Sherlock tried to say, his eyes still closed. 

“No no, you don’t need to say anything right now. Just breathe.” I tried to convince him, brushing some more tears away. 

In that moment the paramedics came running into the room, each one carrying to bags of equipment. I immediately jumped to the side, on the one hand trying to help the paramedics and not stand in their way, on the other hand slightly embarrassed that they saw how I was straddling Sherlock.

“Sir? Can you hear us?” One of the paramedics said in a deep, strong voice.

“He was just speaking to me!” I exclaimed, leaning against the nearest wall.

“Mary…” I thought I heard Sherlock utter.

But why would he say her name right now? That was the last thing that mattered right now. 

The paramedics were now fumbling around with different types of equipment to stabilize and help Sherlock. I offered to help but they just ignored me. Frankly, they were kind of under time pressure here.

They slowly but firmly lifted Sherlock onto a stretcher, preparing to lift him up. 

“Will you come with us?” The second paramedic asked hectically, not even making eye-contact. I nodded and hoped that he still noticed.

As they yanked the stretcher up and quickly darted out the room, I followed them, passing Magnussen on my way out.

Without stopping, I turned my heard and asked again “Who shot him?”

Magnussen crossed his arms in the front, leaned against the door frame and gave me an answer that send a shiver through my entire body. “He already told you.”


	12. ...when you were drunk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The stag night went a little differently...

trigger warning: infidelity

-Sherlock’s POV-

“Okay… am I important?” I managed to say. 

“To some people, yes…”John slurred back at me. At this point he was nothing but a blurred vision in front of me.

I asked myself where this night had gone wrong. 

I had met up with Molly over a week in advance, to make sure that the stag night that I was planning for John wouldn’t be a disaster. Molly and I worked out every single detail about this night, when we were going where and how much we were allowed to drink.

Originally I planned on inviting other people as well, Lestrade, Stamford and even Anderson, just for the heck of it. But as we worked out the evening, Molly and I figured that the more people we were, the messier it could be with organization and everything.

So I figured John’s stag night should only be him and I. I didn’t care for other people being there and I just hoped John didn’t either. Until this point in the night he never said anything, so I just assume he is okay with it. 

“Do PEOPLE like me?” I said, mocking the way he said ‘some people’. Unfortunately this time, he didn’t notice that I was mocking him. Such a shame, it was always fun watching him get angry.

“No they don’t. You tend to… rub them up the wrong way.” John answered, almost lying down in his chair. 

I must clearly be intoxicated; otherwise I wouldn’t have picked up on John’s innuendo there. He used to do these all the time and I just figured if I ignored these remarks, eventually he’d stop. But right now, looking at him, how he was being completely swallowed by his ginormous arm chair and chuckling like a sixth grader at his own joke, I just had to laugh with him. 

“Am I the current king of England?” a thought just struck my mind that I immediately spat at John without giving it much thought.

He was full on laughing right now. “You know we don’t have a king, right?” he asked, his bare feet slightly touching mine.

For me, this whole ‘being drunk’ thing was a complete new experience. Yes I’ve had alcohol before, but because I’m not as keen on the taste it’s only ever one glass, maybe two.  
But apparently it’s ‘tradition’ to get completely drunk at the stag night. However my calculations must’ve been wrong somewhere, because I drank nothing but beer the entire evening, went to the bathroom on schedule and only had the allowed amounts. 

Yet here I was, sitting in front of my crush like a dumb highschooler, giggling at his joke, drunk as a skunk. 

“Don’t we?” I asked, 100% convinced that I read somewhere that we actually have a king. Or was it HAD…?

“No.” John said delighted, slightly shaking his head while a goofy smile was plastered over his face.

I always act as though I can read everyone, but I have to admit that John is one of the hardest people for me to read. Most of the time his emotions change so quickly I can barely keep up and when they’re changing, I mostly don’t have a clue why. Sometimes he’s angry at me, but won’t tell me why. And then I’m left wondering for days what might have set him off.

Sometimes I would just like to be able to read his mind. Especially in situations like right now, when he’s just looking at me, his hand twitching nervously as if he was anxious about something.

It could also just be the alcohol, who knows. I certainly don’t. 

“Your go.” I said briefly, leaning back in my comfy chair, swirling the glass of apple juice around in my hand as if it was whiskey.

John was actually having some more alcohol, but after I had already felt nauseous walking up the stairs, I opted for the last bit of apple juice we still had left in the fridge.  
Talking about John having some more, after I said my sentence he took his glass, emptied it in one gulp as if trying to gain courage and then he slowly leaned forward as if he wanted to speak.

However he miscalculated and slid forwards so much, he was almost falling of his chair. He slowly grabbed my knee for stability.

In that moment I felt a lightning bolt shoot through my body, starting and ending in the spot where he had placed his hand. I was getting used to that however, because that happened every time he would touch me ANYWHERE. 

He looked up into my eyes and then quickly took his hand away. Afterwards, he just shrugged and mumbled “I don’t mind.”

Suddenly I was wide awake. WHAT didn’t he mind? Touching me? Carrying on with the game? 

Apparently it was the latter, as he just chuckled and asked, if he was a woman.

For whatever reason I found that incredibly hilarious and leaned forward to laugh at him, which I did seconds later.

As John was continuing with a couple of other questions about being beautiful and as I gave him a lecture about beauty being nothing than a construct, I noticed our faces to be incredibly close.

We had both leaned forwards in our chairs so much that our noses were almost touching. John didn’t seem to notice, as he kept on giggling like a child. His eyes were only slightly open, the booze probably making him as sleepy as I was.

However, THAT I noticed very well.

My eyes slowly drifted down to his lips that were still drawn up in a smile. 

I then reminded myself of all the sleepless nights when I couldn’t do anything but think of John’s lips. The way he spoke, ate, laughed… Everything about them was perfect. He was perfect. 

John must’ve noticed that I kept staring at his lips. He shortly looked at mine and then mumbled: “Do you mind?”

I didn’t say anything. I was unable to do anything. 

Even with the alcohol, I knew what he was implying. I was torn. I was paralyzed. I couldn’t think.

The only thing I could feel was that my eyes slowly dropped close. And that must’ve been enough of an answer to John. 

Only second later I could feel his lips against mine. Those perfect, soft lips that I had been thinking about only seconds ago. The lips that I had been fantasizing about for years. Making up every possible scenario in which our lips could finally meet for the first time.

Now they finally did. But it just didn’t feel right. Not at all.

The kiss was slow and controlled. His lips were so soft and tasted like the whiskey he had just downed. It wasn’t demanding or rushed. It was as if John was just there. 

I slightly opened my eyes, just to make sure that this was really happening and not just some dumb mind trick my brain would play on me. But he was really there. So close to me.

I slowly started to kiss him back. To be honest, I wasn’t very skilled at kissing, as I had never REALLY done it before. Not like this. 

Apparently I was doing it right, because John just started to lean into me some more, laying on of his hands into the nape of my neck and carefully pressing my head against his.  
John felt so good. He felt warm and welcoming and soft and like home and like everything I imagined him to be. Manly but sensitive. Strong but not demanding. Caring but not cheesy. 

Our lips parted shortly, we both drew in a quick breath and our lips met once more, perfectly working in sync with the other. 

I couldn’t figure out if that was the alcohol just making it feel that way, but our kiss was definitely getting quicker. We parted more often, moving our heads and bodies along with it. I felt my ears ring and my mind spin. 

Without opening my eyes I could feel John slowly get out of his chair and inch towards me. 

All of the sudden, I found his legs to my left and right, trapped between my armchair and my own legs. He was straddling me, still holding my head and bringing our lips together.  
I could feel his warm breath against my skin, as he started to not only kiss my lips but my jaw, my ear, my neck. 

It was funny wasn’t it? A few hours ago, all I was concerned about was that the stag night would go as planned and now here we were.

Oh shit.

Then it hit me.

The stag night. 

That’s why we were here. 

The reason why we were here, drunk out of our heads and making out, was because John would be getting MARRIED next week. To a different person than me. More precisely, to Mary. The only one of John’s girlfriends I ever really approved of. 

This was not right. I just realized that I was the reason why John was currently cheating on his fiancée. 

I suddenly shrugged because John’s touch hit my neck. He was undoing the first of my shirt buttons, working his way down.

“John stop.” I said, not wanting him to stop at all.

“Wh… why?” John asked, looking up with the most confused look he could possibly manage. 

“Y-you don’t want this. You’re getting married. To Mary.” I slurred, trying to work myself out of the situation we were currently in.

John looked at me in disbelief, as if he had never heard such a stupid thing ever before in his life. 

“Remember? Mary Morstan? Your fiancée?” I tried to jog his memory.

John huffed, apparently remembering that there was his fiancée sitting in their SHARED home, thinking he would be at his stag night drinking a couple of beers with me. Well, he definitely HAD been doing that.

He looked down at my lips, bringing his thumb up and letting it glide over my bottom lip. “But I want you…” He whispered, connecting our lips once more.

He parted. “You don’t really want this do you?” He asked seductively, kissing me again.

And that was the big problem. I didn’t. I didn’t want him to stop. I wanted him to be kissing me and undressing me and everything at once. I wanted him to be with me, not with Mary.

But I just couldn’t do it. The consciousness I still had left after an evening filled with alcohol would certainly not allow that. I couldn’t do it to Mary, either. She didn’t deserve to be cheated on. 

“John… you’re getting married…” I repeated, trying to turn my head away from him.

“Oh come on Sherlock… no one needs to know…” He said, sliding his hand underneath my collar, his warms hands slightly pressing down on my now exposed neck.

“John. Please stop.” I said, with more force than I intended.

His eyes expanded, his mouth slightly agape. As he realized the meaning of my words, he brought up his hands in defense.

“Okay, I’ll stop.” He said, working himself off of me. 

I was happy. And sad.

Was that the right thing to do?

My alcohol filled brain didn’t manage to find the result right away. What if I WOULD have given in – it would just be awkward tomorrow morning. In case we even remembered what happened. 

I wanted John. So badly. But obviously, I couldn’t tell him that. Not right now.

I remembered all of the times in the past 3 years I had spent with him when I could’ve told him. And never did. 

When I came back after I had dismantled Moriartys network all around the world, I thought this would be my time. But to find him engaged to another person was heartbreaking. And in a few days, I will have to watch him get MARRIED to another person than me. All because I never said anything.

“I don’t really know where we go from here…” John huffed, scratching the back of his neck. He had settled down in his chair again, but visibly uncomfortable. 

I felt just as uncomfortable. And that was exactly what I had always been afraid of. That things would become awkward if one of us would make a move. Hopefully from tomorrow on, we could just act as if everything was normal or maybe that we just don’t remember what happened. It would be painful, but I would have to deal with it.

“Well…” I said quietly, buttoning up my shirt again, “it is what it is.”


End file.
